


Fresh Tendrils

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Casplant, Crack, Deanplant, Gen, POV Castiel, Samplant, Team Free Plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel discovers a strange lingering connection to some of the people he encountered before his own grace was returned to him. Three of those people just happen to be plants...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Tendrils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WinJennster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinJennster/gifts).



> This is 100% the product of insomnia and hilarity about [Winjennster's Team Free Plants](http://winjennster.tumblr.com/post/127900353744/mittensmorgul-winjennster-winjennster-so). Challenge me to something this strange, and I WILL DO IT! Let this be a warning to the rest of you. :)

Maybe it had something to do with his borrowed grace, Cas had thought the first time it happened. It was an unforeseen side effect, this feeling of being connected to some of the people he’d interacted with before he was reunited with his own more stable grace. Metatron had warned him that it was only a small part of his grace before he swallowed it down. But at least it was _his_ , and his vessel wouldn’t reject it like it had the foreign grace, siphoning itself off in tiny wisps into seemingly random people. The more he thought about it, the more Cas understood that the people he dreamed about weren’t random at all.

For the most part, the flashes of their lives he’d dealt with every time he closed his eyes for more than a moment had stopped when he’d let go of the stolen grace. He expected to lose those tenuous connections when he no longer served as an anchor for the grace that had bound them all together, even if he sometimes missed feeling them. He’d tried to explain it to Hannah once upon waking from one of his dreams in the passenger seat of his car while she drove to investigate yet another earthbound angel. He’d felt like a fisherman with dozens of lines cast out into a lake, and every once in a while he’d feel a tug on one of them, and catch a glimpse of someone going about their life.

It wasn’t exactly like a prayer. He didn’t believe that any of the people he’d met were actively praying to him. It wasn’t even like the longing he felt on a near constant basis from Dean, and occasionally from Claire. It was more like an emotional connection. A moment of pure happiness, or grief, or surprise, or contentment. There didn’t seem to be any other rational explanation for it.

He’d learned a few things about the people in his dreams. They weren’t necessarily religious people, or even spiritual people. They were kind people. The sort of folks that pull over to help when your car breaks down. People who stopped to make sure the homeless man on the street corner had a safe place to stay and a decent meal when the weather forecast called for rain. Every one of them had gone out of their way to help him, and expected nothing in return. Little did they know they’d be repaid for their kindness with a sliver of grace and the eternal gratitude of an Angel of the Lord.

It came as a complete surprise when, weeks after he thought he’d severed all the connections he’d made through that burned out grace, he had an occasion to close his eyes for a moment and relax. Of course, with his own grace thrumming inside him, he had no need for sleep. That didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in the luxury of resting his body he’d learned to appreciate while he’d been human. The surprising part had been his dream.

It was impossible to forget the helpful woman with the colorful hair and an understanding of malfunctioning automobile engines. She’d picked him up on a rural road near Baltimore, and immediately diagnosed the problem with his car.

“Dude, you just need some antifreeze,” she’d said, patting him on the shoulder in a way that reminded him of Dean. “It’s overheating.”

Cas attempted to parse that sentence, and failed. “If the engine’s problem is excessive heat, how will this ‘antifreeze’ help?”

The woman grinned at him, and looked as if she were about to say something, but then glanced back at the smoking radiator before slamming the hood shut. When she turned back to Cas, she stuck out her hand.

“I’m Jenn, and I’m gonna drive you up to the auto parts store so we can get you back on the road,” she said, as Cas shook her hand. “I’m sure you’ve got important places to be, and all.”

“Why yes, I suppose I do have some… important things I need to do,” Cas replied, as Jenn opened the passenger door of her car for him. “I’m Castiel, and I appreciate your help.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure,” Jenn said.

The rest of the time he’d spent in Jenn’s company had been as memorable as her hair. The ceiling of her car had been covered in buttons, many of which bore sigils and symbols that he recognized. A demon trap, the antipossession symbol Dean and Sam had tattooed over their hearts, and even one with his own name spelled out in Enochian. He found it unsettling, until Jenn hopped into the driver’s seat and caught him staring.

“Yeah, sorry for the collection of weirdness I’ve got going on in here,” she said, pointing up to the collection of buttons.

Cas wondered if the woman might’ve been a hunter, but he decided to _play dumb_ , as Dean explained it to him once. She had his name in Enochian, after all. If she was a hunter, she might not take kindly to learning her passenger was actually the angel whose name was pinned to the roof of her car.

He’d asked her about the collection, and it seemed to him that she was playing dumb just as much as he was. When she asked which buttons he wanted to know about, he’d thought it was safe to start with the devil’s trap, rather than going straight for his name. Jenn glanced up and saw which button he was pointing to, and laughed.

“There’s this series of books I really love. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Supernatural.”

Cas swallowed hard and tried to decide how to answer. He decided she probably wasn’t a hunter, but if she’d read the Winchester Gospels, she might’ve already figured out who he was. He could tell that she intended him no harm. She’d stopped to help him long before she could’ve known who he was, and then he’d been careless enough to introduce himself as Castiel. Perhaps she just thought he should know the books since he shared a name with one of the characters. He decided it was best to keep his deceptions to a minimum, and confessed to having read the books.

Jenn kept her focus on the road in front of them, and replied, “Yeah, I had a feeling you might’ve.”

Twenty minutes and one rather enlightening discussion about the incredible journey of the “character” of Castiel in the Supernatural books later, they’d purchased a bottle of antifreeze (which Cas was even more befuddled to learn was _also_ called “coolant”), and returned to his stranded Lincoln. Jenn showed him how to fill the car’s coolant reservoir, and reminded him to check it once in a while until he could get to a mechanic to make sure he didn’t have a more serious problem.

He was pleased when his car started up again, and turned to thank Jenn. Instead of the handshake he offered, she pulled him into a hug, and told him to take care of himself, and to say hi to Sam and Dean for her before rushing back to her car. She smiled and waved as she pulled away, while Cas stood there dumbstruck.

Cas had dreamed about her often.

The dreams about Jenn had started off like most of the others. He saw flashes of her frustrated at work, or taking her children out for ice cream, or helping other people the way she’d helped him. Rather quickly, though, the dreams began to change. It all started one day when he’d dreamed about her tending the plants in her bathroom. He stopped dreaming about Jenn, and, as if the rogue bit of grace had somehow shifted into the plants themselves, he began dreaming about them instead. When she left the bathroom, Cas’s awareness remained behind, divided between three healthy green potted plants that Jenn referred to as Samplant, Deanplant, and Casplant.

Cas found those dreams to be rather soothing. After all, Jenn cared for the plants, and they had a sunny, happy little room to live in. He found it restful to settle into the rich soil and feel the humid air against the leaves while listening to Jenn hum the same sorts of songs that Dean favored.

He began to wonder whether the dreams were simply a product of his own imagination rather than a true vision of three otherwise ordinary houseplants that had somehow taken on the personalities of himself and the Winchesters, but he decided it didn’t matter much either way. Every chance he got, Cas found himself looking for a reason to shut his eyes for just a minute or two, so he could dream about three strange plants hanging from a bathroom ceiling in Baltimore.

Cas thought the plants were aptly named. Samplant was a ridiculously long and flowing philodendron, Deanplant was a vibrant green oxalis, and Casplant was an angel tears plant. He tried not to sympathize with it too much, but frankly he knew how it felt.

“Hey Samplant,” Deanplant said one morning just as Cas found them in his dreams. “You doin’ alright?”

Samplant was looking decidedly less shaggy this morning. Two of his long vines had been clipped away, and his remaining leaves drooped a little bit.

When Samplant didn’t answer right away, Deanplant forged on ahead. “Hey, Sammyplant, it’s okay. If you want we can plan a little payback.”

Samplant sighed, rustling and resettling his remaining leaves to take best advantage of the morning sunlight. “It was an accident, Deanplant. Jenn didn’t mean to do it. She takes good care of us, and those vines were getting a little too long anyway.”

Deanplant made a note of Casplant’s silence on the matter, but forged on again. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. After all the times I threatened to take a pair of clippers to you, I guess I should be a little happier about this, huh.”

“Deanplant,” Casplant chimed in. “Your brother has suffered a traumatizing experience. Perhaps now is not the time for jokes.”

“Aw, Casplant, it’s always the time for jokes.”

Samplant exuded quiet disapproval at them. Cas was impressed. He wasn’t aware philodendrons could be so expressive, but Samplant’s frustration was evident in the remaining tangle of vines overflowing his pot.

“At least Jenn was thoughtful enough to salvage the broken tendrils for you, Samplant,” Casplant said, referring to the bottle of water on the nearby shelf from which the two broken vines now trailed to the floor.

“Yeah, Samplant,” Deanplant replied. “When they take root you can finally get that hair transplant you’ve been itching for since you developed that bald spot up top.”

“I don’t have a bald spot, Deanplant. Stop pushing your issues off onto me.”

Deanplant sputtered, indignant. “You hear that, Casplant? I don’t have a bald spot.”

“Of course not, Deanplant. You have lovely foliage,” Casplant replied. “Though it’s not necessary to mock your brother’s height and excessive foliage for you to feel confident of that fact. Samplant simply grows longer tendrils. That is the nature of philodendrons.”

Deanplant huffed, at a loss for a good comeback. “My tendrils are... plenty... long.”

“For an oxalis,” Samplant muttered. “Who acts more like he should’ve been the one named angel tears.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean relented. “At least Casplant’s foliage doesn’t sprawl out over the whole bathroom like some plants.”

“Of course not, Deanplant,” Samplant cooed. “Casplant is perfect in every way.”

Deanplant’s leaves folded up. He wished he could crawl inside his pot and pretend he never said anything that morning. He regrouped and finally came back with, “Well, he’s polite enough to stay out of Jenn’s way at least. She’s never tripped over his vines and accidentally broken them off.”

Samplant shrugged. All his leaves raised up and then lowered again. Castiel was impressed once again.

“I believe Jenn enjoys rearranging Samplant’s vines,” Casplant finally ventured. “I wonder if she likens it to hairstyling, which she seems fond of.”

Deanplant snorted. “Well then, she’s gonna be thrilled to give Samplant a new hairdo.”

“I’m sure she will,” Casplant replied.

Castiel awoke then, only a few minutes after shutting his eyes. He had more urgent matters to attend to than worrying about the health and social lives of three potted plants, but he knew he’d try to check on them again soon. If for no other reason than to find out how Samplant liked his new hairdo.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song by Soundgarden, [Fresh Tendrils](https://youtu.be/vJy9dysAcsI).  
> Come say hi on [the tumblies](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/).


End file.
